All Good Things
by I Can Kill You With My Brain
Summary: All good things come to an end.


**All Good Things**

She's sitting in the window seat, staring out into the night. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on top. For the first time in weeks she's not crying and pleading, and he can feel himself relaxing as he watches her, sitting at the kitchen table.

"What are you looking at mei-mei?" he asks, trying and failing to make out any shapes in the blackness outside. All he can see is the reflection of their small, well-lit kitchen.

"There's a bird in the tree outside." She doesn't look at him, but the fact remains that she is talking to him.

"Really?" He knows it's pointless, and almost certainly bound to end in tears, but for now he wants to draw out the conversation as long as he can. Soon she will go back to ignoring him, and he wants to be able to remember this.

"It's crying. His mother left him alone in the nest and he doesn't know when she'll be back." She's still speaking serenely, but he can feel unease gathering in his stomach.

"Come eat your dinner, it's getting cold," he tells her, focusing on cutting his chicken into smaller and smaller pieces. He doesn't want to hear anymore, not when it had been going so well.

She turns to him, her long hair swishing softly across her back, her dark eyes reproachful.

"You didn't ask," she tells him. She's annoyed, he's confused. He doesn't know what she wants, and he can see the anger mounting, about to explode. He doesn't want that, plates are becoming scarce in this household.

"Ask what?" he questions, trying to placate her. It works, somewhat. She frowns; still angry but now thoughtful.

"What happened to his brother and sisters. You didn't ask."

"What happened?" He's not sure if he wants to know the answer, but he'll ask anyways.

"They all died." Her voice is apathetic, no longer angry or annoyed, and she returns to staring out the window. He was right, he didn't want to know the answer. He was right about another thing too: this conversation is rapidly going downhill.

"Come eat," he repeats, trying to move on. She doesn't get up, only shifts a bit. He knows she's upset, but she needs to eat. She hasn't eaten in days, and he can see it taking its toll. He gets up and brings a plate over to her, placing it down next to her when she pretends it doesn't exist.

This close he can see how bad she really is; the whiteness of her skin, the bones beneath it. He hadn't realized how bad she was; she usually doesn't let him come near her.

There's a single strand of black hair hanging in front of her face and without thinking he goes to move it. She flinches, and the movement breaks his heart.

He numbly goes back to his seat and returns to eating - or, more accurately, picking at his food. When he chances another glance up at her, he sees she's still ignoring her food.

"It can't fly yet," she says suddenly; interrupting him before he can remind her to eat her dinner. He frowns, and tries to remember what she's talking about.

"The bird," he says, and she nods.

"He can't fly yet. He's not old or developed enough. He's weak, and he hates having to rely on others for his protection." He doesn't have a reply for that, so he resorts to more normal matters.

"Eat your food," he reminds her. She reaches out one slender hand and grasps the plate by its edge, knuckles white. Then she hurls it at his head with uncanny accuracy.

He ducks, and it shatters against the far wall. That's another plate gone, and he sighs. At this rate they were going to run out.

"Three days, four hours, seven minutes," she tells him without looking around. He sighs and gets up to pick up the pieces of porcelain and chicken.

"Till what?" he asks tiredly; he doesn't want to do this anymore - the codes, the riddles, the nonsense.

"Until we run out of plates," she tells him, turning around again to examine his progress with dark eyes. He can feel them burning into him and he looks away, picking up the last of the mess and throwing it into the trash.

"You could always not throw plates," he tells her. She stares at him for a few seconds then looks away, back out the window.

"Forget it," he says tiredly after a few seconds. He's done with this. He's had enough for the day. He knows that he'll find her there in the morning anyways, it's not like she sleeps anymore. And, for all her hatred of him for taking her away, she won't run away.

"Wait." He turns around, already halfway out of the room. She's staring at him, eyes sad. He feels the need to go to her, like always, but fights it back. She'll just run away.

"What?" he asks, too worn out to care about the bird anymore. She stares at him for a second and the slowly shifts over, leaving a small gap on the window seat. Her hand crept out again and pointed at the space next to her.

Despite his best efforts, he can feel a small smile spring onto his lips. He walked across the room, covering the distance in only a few steps, and gingerly sat down next to her, wary of scaring her off.

She moves closer to him, her long black hair falling over her face like a curtain as she curled up next to him. Carefully he wraps an arm around her and she puts her head on his shoulder, just like old times.

"We're leaving soon," she tells him. "I'm going to fly away." He's too happy to notice her pronouns.

"Where are we flying to?" She twists her head at an impossible angle so that she can look up at him.

"I'm flying," she tells him. "You're the bird." He doesn't understand, but she's beginning to worry him.

"What do you mean?" he asks her, hoping she's not about to say what he thinks she's going to say.

"You're not developed enough to fly yet Simon, but I'm not going to be there to teach you. You'll have to learn on your own."

"You're not going anywhere mei mei," he reassures her. "I know you don't like it here right now, but you'll understand why we left soon. We're going to have a good life here, I promise."

She stares up at him, eyes filled with tears.

"All good things come to an end Simon," she tells him sadly. He opens his mouth to answer her, but a knock on the door stops him. He hesitates, but the knock comes again, more insistent, and he stands up to get it.

"All good things come to an end," she murmurs, almost too low for him to hear. He looks back and sees she's looking back out the window. He turns around and opens the door.

"All good things come to an end."


End file.
